Dark Duck 24: Return of the Mad Plant Scientist
by VAPX007
Summary: Happy New Year: Doctor Reginald Bushroot usually does his best to mind his own business and not make much trouble. On the other hand, he helps his friends regardless of what trouble they want to get up to. But Darkwing Duck is a vampire, so what does that mean for our ecologically hybrid companion?
1. Happy New Year

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied with the use of Darkwing Duck and associated characters; any dues belong to Disney. Whoever heard of an alphanumeric barcode like 'VAPX007' having a bank account anyway?_

* * *

**Return of the Mad Plant Scientist**

* * *

PRECURSOR (One Month Earlier)

* * *

**Happy New Year**

* * *

It was January. Post boxing day shopping and both the Christmas and sales madness had finally subdued. Finally, Doctor Reginald Bushroot had dared to step out of his icehouse.

The deep freeze feeling was keen as Bushroot walked into the warmth of the air-conditioned indoor mall, trying to warm his head up enough to start thinking properly again. It'd been weeks since he'd been able to think enough to remember what 'Zn' stood for on the periodic table. He needed to remember what it was, because whatever it was, he'd run out of it three weeks ago and its absence from his dwindling fertilizer supply probably had something to do with his yellowing leaves and lack of energy.

Right now all Bushroot wanted to do was warm up enough to remember what Zn meant and then to stock up on it so he went about the stores, looking at all the left over discount tickets and ended up in the Fur, Feathers and All department store.

Along three aisles into the distance, he saw someone familiar.

"Megs?" Bushroot passed by a mother and daughter mouse in the shoe section and between two teenage girl ducks in the jersey section, past a half stacked trolley full of discounted Christmas trimmings and cards and then stopped beside his old friend. "Megavolt?"  
The startled rat spun around on the spot, hearing his name. "Wha-who?" He blinked, "Bushy?"  
"Fancy meeting you in a department store." Bushroot commented. "Keeping warm for a while, huh?" Bushroot asked. "Me too."  
"All this cold weather's a real drain on the electrical grid. Everyone's trying to keep warm."  
"Sure. At least there are not so many wood burning stoves in the city."

Megavolt reached up behind Bushroot and pulled something down from the shelf. "No, that's ridiculous." He shook the thing and it rattled. "I didn't realise it would be this difficult." Megavolt said with a sigh and put the box back on the shelf.

"What're you looking for?" Bushroot asked his friend.  
"Looking?" Megavolt turned from him and grabbed the handle to the contraption parked by his side. He pushed it down the aisle. "Whatever it is there doesn't seem to be much here ..."

'What's that?' Bushroot reconsidered the blue plastic wheeled thing with his frozen, stuffy head that Megavolt was pushing. 'It's a trolley.'

"Oh, look, now that's better." Megavolt crossed the small space and grabbed another box. In it, there were a few twisted pipes with beads on it. Putting it on the already overcrowded seat of the trolley drew Megavolt's attention back to the contraption. "This thing's not very big; there's no place to put anything." Megavolt complained.  
"Why don't you get a bigger trolley then, Megs?" Bushroot suggested, "And then you can put more stuff in it."  
"That's a great idea, Bushy." Megavolt flashed a smile at Bushroot and then started hauling the blue trolley backwards up the aisle.

"Megs ..." Bushroot followed his friend as they went to a stack of trolleys in the aisle next tier up, "Did you cause the blackout on Christmas night?"  
"Huh? Blackout? There was a blackout?"  
"All the lights went off for half of St. Canard."  
"And you naturally think that I'm the cause? I'll have you know that I've been crime free for months. Why are they all just blue or pink?"

"Electricity is your favourite thing. You could be."  
Megavolt grimaced at Bushroot. "I could be what? Pink?"  
Bushroot stopped as Megavolt stared back at him with a confused look on his face. "I suppose if suddenly all the plants in St Canard went on a protest march one day people would think it was my doing too."  
"You're right of course. Could be pink. Equally, it could be blue. Questions, questions! ... and I just don't know the answer!"

"Here." Bushroot spied a blue, red and green tartan trolley at the back of the stack and pulled it out. "It's the official SCU tartan." He recognised the pattern.  
"Oh, Bushy! You've solved my problem!" Megavolt opened out the tartan double sized trolley and rolled it back and forwards for a moment absently. "But I haven't been to St Canard University."  
Bushroot smiled, "You don't have to be alumni to support our local university, Megs. And besides; the tag on the other double trolley has a picture of two mice sitting in a giant pink love heart on a red background with white polka dots."  
"Yeah-okay-I'll-take-this-one." Megavolt was suddenly quite possessive of the tartan trolley. "This one's great! It'll fit much more stuff in it. It's double ... spaced. Or something."

Bushroot rubbed his stuffed up head as he read the label. "It says 'twin carriage' ... I've forgotten my question."  
"Oh, I'm beat." Megavolt yawned. "The pipe frame is a lot sturdier on this one. Good thinking, Bushy." He transferred the few boxes into the back seat: the pipe and beads contraption, a metal slinky and a three dimensional wooden puzzle. The last one caused Bushroot a twinge of heartache for the deceased oak wood.  
"Megs, that-that's wood that's-."  
"-And who is providing the light in here?" Megavolt retaliated.  
"Sorry." Bushroot apologised.

"Alright, so what was it I came into the shops to do? Boy do I need a coffee-that's what I came here for-a coffee!" Megavolt said a little more brightly, looking around. "It's time to say 'hello' to the coffee shop lady. Wanna join me, Bushy?"  
Bushroot shrugged. "Sure," he followed his friend to the checkouts, "b-but I can't drink the stuff."

* * *

In a short few minutes they were standing in the coffee shop adjacent to the department store.  
"Long tall, thanks."  
"Uh, warm water please." Bushroot smiled hesitantly at the teenager behind the register with the bubble-gum pink bangs.  
"That'll be five-ninety five."

Megavolt waved his card and the machine beeped.

"We'll bring it out to you." The barista attendant shoved a number at them without giving them a second glance. "Please take a seat."

Bushroot reasoned it was because Megavolt had 'reformed' and was no longer a super villain that he could find such easy service. "How is life not being a super villain?" He asked his friend as they picked a table that bordered onto the walking strip.  
"Well, you know." Megavolt shrugged as they sat down. "It's regularly chaotic, occasionally dramatic and a touch perilous. Or was that regularly dramatic and occasionally chaotic? Or was that occasionally perilous and a touch chaotic? No. Wait. Sorry." Megavolt laughed giddily. "That's marriage! You weren't asking me about my marriage. Silly me!"

He blinked, his smile disappearing, "Uh, what were you asking me about again, Bushy?"  
"Um ..." Bushroot blinked back at Megavolt. "I'm too cold to remember."  
"You should move to Nebraska then." Megavolt advised.  
"Nebraska?"  
"Arbour Day."  
"What has that got to do with winter?"  
"Winter?" Megavolt frowned in puzzlement. "When were we talking about winter?"  
Bushroot scratched his head. "I don't know."

The waiting attendant placed the drinks on the table in front of Bushroot and Megavolt.

"Thank you." Bushroot looked thankfully up at the tall girl in black uniform and apron. She was already on her way to another table with another drink still on her tray and didn't even hear his 'thank you'.

* * *

Sitting in the chair, his leafy fingers wrapped around his warm water, Bushroot was in a much happier place at the little cafe onside the Fur, Feathers, and All store.

"Plastic." Megavolt shook his head.  
"What's wrong with plastic?"  
"Nearly everything seems to be made of plastic these days. You only have to give it a little zap and it melts. That's so unbelievably impractical."  
"Y-yes, I guess that's a downside."

Megavolt sipped his coffee. Bushroot tried to see inside his friend's mind but had to pull back from the mix mash of images and equations that spun around half-formed and sluggish like a blue slushy drink. "Are-are you alright, Megs?" Bushroot asked worriedly.  
"What a rush!" Megavolt suddenly giggled hysterically and sank against the table into his hands.  
"I-I think you need to go back to bed. I don't get it, but m-maybe you've had too much electricity."  
Megavolt yawned again. "I'm completely run down."  
"Maybe you need a plug in then?" Bushroot offered helpfully.  
"No!" Megavolt sat up straight with a look of alarm on his face. "Too much, much too much!" He grabbed his coffee and guzzled half of it down. He continued to sit up straight for several more moments before collapsing back over the table.

Bushroot gazed at Megavolt as he sipped his warm water. After a few minutes, he looked over at Megavolt's purchases from the department store. It was a tartan coloured two-seater pram. In it were four glass baby bottles, a metal slinky, a couple chunky wooden jigsaw puzzles, a puzzle cube, a metal ring puzzle set, and a picture book on a character called 'Squishy the Squirrel'.  
Bushroot gaped at Megavolt for a long moment. "Uh, congratulations."  
Megavolt stirred from the table and grabbed his coffee cup. "What for?"  
"Uh, you and Felicia are having a baby?"  
"We are?" Megavolt jolted upright in his seat with a look of shock on his face. "Why would she tell you and not me?"  
Bushroot glanced back at the pram. "No, I ... was taking a guess."

"Oh." Megavolt sighed and finished his coffee. "Don't scare me like that. Hey." Megavolt pointed at Bushroot. "You're looking a bit yellow. Almost white. And your eyes are a weak grey colour. And half your petals have fallen out."  
"Yeah." Bushroot sighed, "Interveinal chlorosis. I'm missing Zn whatever that is."  
"Zinc." Megavolt stood up, "You need zinc. Come on, it'll be in the health food aisle."  
"B-but you're all run down."

"Wrong." Megavolt pointed to himself, "I've just had coffee. I'm on my way back up. Plus I need to get milk since yesterday the shops were closed." He frowned.  
"How did you remember that all of a sudden?"  
"Well, this is my first coffee of the day." He grabbed the handles of the stroller. "This reminds me of the black coffee I couldn't drink this morning." He shuddered. "Black coffee! It's horrible!"  
"Right." Bushroot decided. "I'll help you to remember the milk while we're in the supermarket."  
"Thanks, Bushy." Megavolt smiled back at him. "You should probably dose up on iron too. Ooh, and magnesium! Definitely magnesium."  
"B-but you don't know anything about plants."  
"Oh, but I'm going to be a dad, you know, and dad's just know these things, and it's not as if you're going to eat a steak, now come on!"

Megavolt paused and turned back to Bushroot. "Unless you want to eat a steak. Coz, you know, the meat aisle is on the other side of the store. And as a dad I would prefer my kids to eat proper meat over pharmaceutical products."  
Bushroot shook his head. "I don't think that my digestive-."  
"Well, great, come on then!"

* * *

_A/n: Okay, so how's that for a New Year's treat? _


	2. Ch1 P1 Quackerjack and Company

_A/n: Character picture: Bushroot is a botanical scientist that used to work at the St Canard University. In a desperate non-sensible-thinking moment he experimented on himself and hybridised himself with a Petunia to prove his research. Now he has bright purple petals on his head and three stamens that wave around a little if it gets too windy. The top half of him is green, as one might imagine his old duck feathers transformed into leaves. He has vine-like arms and leaf-like hands. His legs are brown and his feet are roots._

_A/n: Character picture: Quackerjack would otherwise look like a normal anthropomorphic duck except that he wears a red and blue mismatched jester outfit and has a pet banana that he keeps in his pocket for the occasional moments of poetic advice and company. Quackerjack went crazy when people stopped buying his toys and he went out of business. He often blames arcades and video games for his madness._

* * *

_A/n: For my Mum._

* * *

**Return of the Mad Plant Scientist**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

THE TALE OF THE UNCONVINCING SIDEKICK

PART 1

Quackerjack and Company

* * *

It was afternoon one sunny day early February when there was the sound of a miniature foghorn that shook the glasshouse. It frightened Doctor Reginald Bushroot into ducking under the lab bench for cover. He frowned at the jar of chelate in his leafy hands. 'Scared? Yes, I am. Unarmed?' He chuckled, 'no.'

"Bushy!" Quackerjack's voice caterwauled, "Doctor, Bushy Reggie! Come out and play with me!"

It was no one dangerous; or at least not in the intentionally dangerous category. Bushroot sighed in relief and stood back up, putting the jar back on the table and headed over to Quackerjack standing by the pumpkin plants.

"You won't believe this, Bushy!"

"Okay. I don't believe it," Bushroot shrugged and set to steering Quackerjack away from his delicate friends and more towards the research section of his lab.  
"I've got an idea!" Quackerjack beamed at him.  
Bushroot smiled, "Oh, I like that," he said, glad for the companionship. "When do we start?"  
"No, Bushy," Quackerjack held out his hands to steady him. "Not an idea for a crime. I'm talking about nabbing a share of the toy market again!" He whooped, bouncing on the spot, "Oh, it's fantastic." He giggled, "Or should I say 'fangtastic'?"

"Huh?" Reginald Bushroot swallowed, "I-I'm not following."  
"It's simple." Quackerjack bounded towards Bushroot's lab and the plant-duck raced after him. The nutty toymaker snatched up the whiteboard marker and began drawing clown faces and stars on the board.

Bushroot frowned at the squiggles once he'd finished, "That's your plan?"  
"No-oo!" Quackerjack handed him the marker with a wide smile. "I just like drawing on your board! How can you blame me? It's so big and white and oh-so-shiny." Quackerjack grabbed a few lidded jars from Bushroot's table including the chelate Bushroot had only just put down and began juggling with them, "I'm just so excited!"

"No-no-no!" Bushroot quacked. The dangerous chemicals he'd spent days gathering went up and down and around and up and down at a giddy pace. "Be careful!"  
Quackerjack put the jars back on the table much to Bushroot's relief. "Oh, you're such a spoilsport."  
"No I'm not-no-I'm-not! I'm not." Bushroot insisted, grabbing his friend's wrists. "I wanna know and you're teasing me!" Bushroot pouted, standing back from Quackerjack. "What's the plan?"  
"It's all about vampires," Quackerjack smiled at Bushroot.  
"What about them?" A puzzled Bushroot let go of his friend.  
"They like my toys."  
"Well, um, really?" Bushroot scratched his head. "How many vampires have you asked?"  
"Oh, well, I haven't done a 'proper' market survey, I mean, how many vampires does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Quackerjack giggled.  
"Uh, I don't know."  
"No one does." Quackerjack laughed, "as soon as the light turns on, they scatter!"

Bushroot paused, trying to get Quackerjack's sense of humour, "So you want to sell your toys to vampires?"  
"Exactly," Quackerjack smiled back, "but there's a little catch."  
"Which is where you need my help?" Grinning, Bushroot jumped on the spot with a tremor of excitement.  
"Well, yes, because I really haven't done a proper market survey; talking to two vampires in passing does not make a sales line, no matter how squiggly." Quackerjack giggled to himself.  
"Two?"  
"Actually just Felicia... but I know that Darkwing likes my toys so that makes two," Quackerjack shrugged.  
Bushroot raised an eyebrow, "How can you possibly know that Darkwing likes your toys?"  
"Have you seen what The Quiverwing Quack has in her utility belt?" Quackerjack suddenly was hurt and indignant.  
"No," Bushroot answered sincerely, "Doesn't she like using arrows with gadgets?"  
"Oh, she has those too. But she also has-get this: wind up teeth and an inflatable rubber duck dingy!" Quackerjack stamped his foot. "Those are my inventions!" He folded his arms and stuck out his tongue, "It's so unfair."

Bushroot paused, looking at Quackerjack, "So Darkwing gave Quiverwing some of your toys without asking you? That's not very nice."  
"No, it isn't!" The bells on the ends of Quackerjack's jester cap tinkled as he vehemently agreed, "And you know what else? He said-oh, the nerve-he said 'yes' and that they were my ideas! You see, he admitted it! I mean, I didn't have a tape recorder at the time, but-."  
"So what did you say?"  
"Naturally, I said he should pay for them if he wanted to keep them."  
"So what happened then?" In his mind, Bushroot could see Darkwing Duck in his grey and black outfit standing in the middle of the street with his arms folded as he calmly argued with Quackerjack. Darkwing had been particularly strange lately, making up new rules and not getting as cross as he used to.  
"He said he would pay for them but they didn't have a proper market price. And then he disappeared." The toymaker shrugged. "So that's what I'm trying to do. Start my business again."

Bushroot shrugged, "So a vampire and possibly vampires like your ideas … now what?"  
"So I need to find a way to put my toys back in the shops ... but I need to put them where a vampire would look," Quackerjack added, "because I already tried the first part before."  
"Oh," Bushroot frowned, "Liquidator knows more about selling things than me."  
"No, he won't help me. Every time I say 'vampire' Licky comes down with a headache," Quackerjack pouted, "That's why I'm asking you."  
"Well, okay, um ..." Bushroot turned away to think "... If there is a shop for plants then there might be a shop for vampires ..."

"If I were a vampire, where would I shop?" Bushroot paused, "I don't know, aren't vampires like normal people but just with a hematophagous diet?"  
Quackerjack shook his head. "And you're a normal person who lives on a compost diet. Where do you shop?"  
"Catalogues mostly," Bushroot frowned at Quackerjack's comparison. "I use them for mulch afterwards."  
"Oh, you're so practical." Quackerjack commented in a serious voice, "I know. Let's play pretend." Quackerjack snatched Bushroot's trench coat from the coat stand and handed it to him. "We're going to go shopping, pretending we're vampires instead of who we are really."  
"Okay, I think I can do that," Bushroot played along, smiling. Window shopping was always better with company. "This sounds like fun."  
"I know!" Quackerjack laughed. "Let the game commence!"  
"Not yet," Bushroot interrupted him, pointing at his jester clothes, "If we're going to play dress ups..."  
"Of course, we must drrress for the occasion." Quackerjack said, rolling his 'r' in a dramatic voice. Together they left the greenhouse. They were on a mission.


	3. Ch1 P2 The Sound of Scheming

**Return of the Mad Plant Scientist**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

THE TALE OF THE UNCONVINCING SIDEKICK

PART 2

The Sound of Scheming

* * *

The Bridge Tower was silent but for the occasional rustle of the newspaper in Darkwing Duck's hands as he sat reading at the antique wooden desk. The interstate crime syndicate, The Hiroshena, seemed to be trying to claw their way into St Canard again. Something in this paper should have a connection to what they were up to. 'What about the Spring Fashion Exhibition? A Spring Charity auction is much more likely...'

Without any warning there was a rush of air in front of his eyes and a dozen photos landed in front of Darkwing Duck on the desk on top of his newspaper with a slap.

How did these pictures land on his desk? He looked up at his intruder.

"Juan Ducker! I thought I heard the sound of someone scheming." He frowned severely at the face and visual form of someone he didn't want to see: Juan Ducker, vampire slayer at large, disruptive nuisance, troublemaker. "So the old duck is still using the Hamil Corp equipment ... he 'stole'," he emphasised unappreciatively, "to mask his white noise."  
"Like they need it," Ducker answered in an educated British accent.  
Darkwing frowned again. This was the man that had tried to use Darkwing's daughter for bait only a few months ago last year. "How did you find my hideout?"  
"It was obvious; I just collated some bird watching reports," Juan Ducker gestured to the ThunderQuack, parked nearby, "your servant's machine always disappears in this general vicinity..."  
His temper flaring up reminded Darkwing of his simmering hunger and he gritted his beak until Ducker had finished.  
"...Then I considered the sort of place a vampire would take up residence in, and guessed the first place to look would be the bridge towers."  
"Okay, let's get your facts straight: First of all Launchpad is not my servant. Secondly, while this may be a concept that you've never encountered for yourself: Launchpad is my 'friend'!"

Darkwing sighed; he'd gain nothing from antagonising Ducker, or even allowing himself to be antagonised, for that matter. Darkwing was far better off, he realised with an inward groan, to try to be friendly. He sank back into his chair in resignation, "And thirdly could you please resist bugging my place?"

If they were going to be working on the case Ducker had brought to him together his grocery bill was going to be huge. "You don't like me, I don't like you. So why are you here?"  
"I am acknowledging your deductive powers ..."  
"And it apparently pains you to admit as much," Darkwing raised a suspicious eyebrow.  
"And when it comes to tracking down soulless bloodsucking parasites of the night, what better way than through another soulless bloodsucking parasites of the night? I naturally thought of you."

"That does it!" Darkwing fumed at the direct blow to his ego. This guy was just as offensive as Gizmoduck. "Get ... out!" He growled.  
"Then I'll take my case with me."  
The cheek! Deflated, Darkwing looked down at the photos. A quick glance at the first one told him they were gruesome, a momentary review as he spread them out with his fingers told him they were tracking a trail of victims across America, and his deductive powers concluded that the next in the path was St Canard.

This was Darkwing Duck's city, and this menace needed stopping. Darkwing found himself forced to change his mind.

With an unhappy hiss, he scooped up the pictures as he jumped out of his chair and headed for the computer platform.  
"Where are you going?"  
"My computer," Darkwing spun about to explain. "In order to profile the criminal we need to profile the vic-."  
Ducker snatched the pictures from him and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. "What sort of vampire are you?"  
Darkwing eyed Ducker's pocket; "currently one in need of a clue; a clue which you possess."  
"You can just pick up the scent of blood."  
"I would like to catch him 'before' he hurts any of my St Canard's citizens."  
Ducker rolled his eyes. "How many vampires have you hunted before?"

Darkwing frowned at him, "a couple."  
"How about we do things my way then?"  
"Your way!" Darkwing could have had a fit, "That is-!"  
"I found you, didn't I?"  
"Yes, but you already have my profile! Once the perpetrator is profiled we can get him in one fell swoop," Darkwing snarked back, "and his profile is in your pocket! It isn't like it'd take me that long."  
"You've already seen the pictures." Ducker said with a voice of finality.  
"Briefly," Darkwing gritted, "But who were those poor people to have-where-are-you-going?" He exclaimed as Ducker turned away from him.  
"I didn't come here to listen to your endless childish ranting."  
"Fine!" Darkwing snapped, "But you better come with me. Don't want you hurting yourself." Darkwing grumbled, "That'd be a real shame," he headed over to the Ratcatcher.

Putting his helmet on, he glanced at Ducker. "You ever heard of the little saying 'those who fail to plan, plan to fail'?"  
"Do you really feel like I've clipped your wings?" Ducker asked as he sat in the side car and put his seat belt on.  
Darkwing sullenly started the engine. There was a killer vampire out there and that was all the truth Ducker allowed him to know.

Silently mulling things over, Darkwing cranked the engine up to first, second and then third gear as they sped out and zoomed down onto the bridge road. Was it just that Ducker didn't trust him because he was a vampire? Or was it that he didn't trust Ducker to do the right thing? Darkwing's suspicion mixed in with a sense of quiet triumph of finding the answer. 'Aha, mutual distrust.'

* * *

Ducker spoke, interrupting Darkwing's thoughts as they sat at red lights at a set of crossroads. "With all your super senses you allow your machines to cripple you with dependency."  
"The Ratcatcher does not hamper my investigation. Or should I say 'your' investigation, since you insist on being in control," Darkwing glared at Ducker for a moment. 'Oh, boy do I have a problem with not trusting this guy. It might just be because he's invisible to my vampire senses...'  
"And these traffic lights are certainly one of your personal vices."  
"Vices?" Darkwing gritted his beak, 'I would really like you to stop talking now' he silently thought as he stared at the red light. "Sure, following road laws is a vice alright."  
"I once caught a vampire simply because she was too busy with her cellph-."  
"Can we please stick to the criminal on hand?" Darkwing demanded, glaring at Ducker and then looked back to the green light and he twisted the grip.  
"How do you manage to hold any conversation with that temper I do wonder?"  
"Actually I do it pretty well!" Darkwing snapped back at him. "I've learnt to have a lot of patience for minor offenders."

"So then you are still upset over that incident with your daughter."  
"Oh, thank you for bringing 'that' up!" Darkwing said sarcastically, "No, I have not forgotten that you kidnapped my daughter and collaborated with an extremely unstable Necromancer who in turn nearly started a zombie outbreak in St Canard!"  
"And you know what else is particularly odd." Ducker continued in his peculiar British tone. "The slight lisp you make when you're upset."  
Darkwing turned away from Ducker. Now that he mentioned it his fangs were tingling in the cool February night air. "You trapped a child and used her for bait." Darkwing responded hollowly, "That makes you a criminal," Darkwing stated with finality and felt quite happy to have put the reason for his distrust in a nice neat box.

* * *

The clubbing district loomed up ahead and shortly Darkwing pulled over to the curb.

"If he's hopping from town to town he hasn't had much chance in establishing a niche so the most obvious place is him getting a club dinner," Darkwing reasoned.  
"I would agree."  
"I don't care if you agree or not." Darkwing jumped off the Ratcatcher and stove the keys in his jacket pocket. "Just don't step on my cape and I'll see if I can pick up a trail. I just hope your little game doesn't waste too much of our time."


	4. Ch1 P3 Where is Our Daughter

**Return of the Mad Plant Scientist**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

THE TALE OF THE UNCONVINCING SIDEKICK

PART 3

Where is Our Daughter

* * *

The gravy boat sat in the middle of the square wooden table beside the bread and the butter. There were only four Porters living in this house. Pine Porter was a thin and fit woman with tidy white feathers, golden blonde hair and not a single clairvoyant thought in her rational mind. She tapped her delicate beak, staring at her daughter's empty seat. Her husband, Jim Porter, sat opposite her, speaking on his cell phone to their daughter's boyfriend.

Their eldest hadn't come home after her lectures at the university. What made it so alarming to Pine was that both her husband and her son were concerned about Belladonna's absence.

"There you are, George. I've been trying to get ... Jim Porter ... Bella's father. I'm trying to get a hold of her but I think her phone ... Oh, I wasn't ... well, okay, I guess if you ..."

Pine looked up as her husband put his phone down on the table.

"He hung up on me." Jim said with some annoyance. "I tell you, Pine, that boy is no good."  
"But he doesn't know where she is?" Pine asked for confirmation.  
"No." Jim sighed. "But he didn't sound like he cared too much either-."  
"Jim, can we please get off the subject of George?" Pine glared at her husband.

"I've been thinking about why Bella hasn't answered us," Pine began. "She has to have it on silent during her lectures. Maybe she hasn't turned it back onto sound and forgotten to check her phone. What if it's just gone flat? She could be out of credit. She could have lost it." Pine sighed, "she's nearly finished university; she's old enough to take care of her things."

"She's hardly forgetful, Pine, Belle's more like you that way."

"She could be at the movies and turned it off," Pine suggested again. "Maybe her car has broken down somewhere on her way back home 'and' she's run out of battery."  
"Isn't there a location spell or something?" Jim joined in the rational discussion with a helpful thought, "I seem to remember my old Aunt Dram talking about some spell like that."

Pine frowned; her memories of the elderly woman were little more than a vision of her sipping lavender tea in her chair outside her caravan, her walking cane never far away. "Now you're pressing my memory."  
"It's worth a shot," Jim shrugged, standing up.  
Pine stepped past Jim into the hallway and yelled up the stairs, "Monk!"

A door slammed open and there was the pounding of feet onto the upstairs landing. "Is Bella home?" Their teenage boy with long dark hair flopping in front of his face asked. Those few steps were possibly the most energetic he'd been since primary school.  
"No, Monk," Pine replied, "your dad and I are going to try putting together a locating spell. We need you to keep watch on the telephones in case she rings."  
"Oh." Monk answered dejectedly. "You know she's probably just hanging out with Birnita."

"Birnita hasn't heard anything from Belle since their last lecture," Jim countered. "If your sister rings come out and tell us straight away."  
"Yeah, sure," Monk frowned, looking over at them, "What'll you be doing?"  
"We'll be out in the garden," Jim answered.  
"Piecing together what ingredients we need for this spell."

"You don't know what you're doing, do you?" Monk rolled his eyes. "You know if you just let me drive-."  
"Phones, Monk," Pine directed firmly. "Your father and I don't want to be worried about the both of you."  
"Yes, mum," Monk resigned and sat down at the kitchen table, slouching in his chair in front of the phones.

Pine and Jim headed outside into the garden.


	5. Ch1 P4 Quackerjack the Vampire

**Return of the Mad Plant Scientist**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

THE TALE OF THE UNCONVINCING SIDEKICK

PART 4

Quackerjack the Vampire

* * *

A short walk later Bushroot discovered himself in the nearby Fur, Feathers and All store arguing with Quackerjack.  
"But I like the one I have!"  
"B-but Bushy!" Quackerjack exclaimed, showing off the overcoat, "Fawn is just so not vampy. How are you going to get into the spirit of things?"  
Bushroot pushed it back at him. "Here's an idea. You get the black coat, and I'll be your sidekick."  
"I'm not sure if vampires have sidekicks." Quackerjack pondered.  
"Darkwing Duck has." Bushroot smiled smugly. "And Launchpad wears brown."  
"Alright, I'm sold." Quackerjack laughed and they headed for the checkouts.

Quackerjack handed the attendant some money. "Keep the change."  
"Sir, I can't do that."  
"Well, donate it then, whatever; use your imagination." Quackerjack snorted and bounded off.  
Bushroot hurried after him. "This idea might take some work." He mused over his friend's gaiety, "Quackers, let me help you put it on."

A moment later Quackerjack was standing there in the walking strip of the mall with a black overcoat on. "Oh, I feel so drab." He stated despondently.  
Bushroot paused, "Maybe it's a part of being a vampire."  
"More like an unpleasant side effect," Quackerjack looked down at himself.  
"They like night time ... maybe colours are too much distraction in the dark?" Bushroot shrugged.  
"What now, Bushy?"  
"Well, I don't know, let me think ..." Bushroot contemplated. "Let's have a look around at the shops."

"I don't know," Quackerjack fell in step beside him. "I expected this to be more fun."  
"That's what I said about becoming a plant," Bushroot commented, stopping by the art supplies store. "Maybe vampire artists?"  
"I sell toys, Bushroot," Quackerjack complained. "Not DIY self-portraits."  
"Mirrors!" Bushroot realised in surprise.  
"No, I said toys. Not house supplies."  
"No, but ... oh!" Bushroot grabbed Quackerjack's hand. "I don't think this mall is the right place to look."  
"But if it's not in a mall it cuts out around ninety percent of the foot traffic."

Bushroot blinked at him. "That's it!" His words tumbled out of his beak, "Where do vampires go to hang out with everyone else?"  
"Is that a riddle or a bat joke?" Quackerjack returned in good humour.  
"How many vampires does it take to replace a light bulb?" Bushroot asked Quackerjack's earlier joke in pointed determination.  
"No one knows. When the light turns on, they scatter."  
"So? In the mall, everything is always as bright as day. It's not exactly an attractive place for a black-wearing, night loving person."  
"So ..." Quackerjack paused, "We should be looking at shops in strip malls and street frontage locations!" He smiled, "We make a great team, Bushy."  
"Let's go!"

With a laugh they hurried away from the bright lights of the mall.

* * *

"Night is a much better time to investigate." Quackerjack commented as they walked past the street front shops. "We can see what stores are open that vampires might go in."  
Bushroot mused, "Video arcades, Last Minute stores, cinemas, bowling alleys... Singles clubs?"  
Quackerjack tsked and stopped, turning to Bushroot, "Bushy, you should be happy with who you-."  
"Watch out!" Bushroot swept his vine out and scooped Quackerjack out of the way as someone came rushing up at them. "That's Ducker," Bushroot realised. "He's a vampire slayer."

"But I'm not a vampire!" Quackerjack objected, backing away from Ducker's angry glare.  
Darkwing was suddenly there and grabbed Ducker's shoulder to pull him away, "He's not a vampire!" Darkwing repeated Quackerjack's claim, "That's just Quackerjack and Bushroot! Sheesh."  
"Then why are they dressed up and acting like vampires?" Ducker replied grouchily in his British accent.  
"Was it really that good an impression?" Bushroot queried. "I'm not even wearing black."  
"Oh!" Quackerjack giggled, "It must be a good disguise to fool a vampire slayer."  
"I wouldn't count on it, Quackers," Darkwing rolled his eyes. "There goes the nightclub stakeout," Darkwing added in a moody voice.  
"How do you mean?" Ducker asked.  
"We've muddied the water." Darkwing explained to Ducker, "Maybe he was going to show up here but you can bet there's no way he will now. We'll have to try again tomorrow on some other place. And for the last time; Quackerjack is still not a vampire!" He quacked angrily at Ducker. Darkwing shook his head and stalked back to the Ratcatcher. Bushroot didn't have to be telepathic to know that Darkwing was not having a great night.

"Say," Quackerjack smiled at Ducker, "You wouldn't happen to know where vampires like to shop, would you?"  
"Shop? What nonsense is this?" Ducker scowled and stormed back to Darkwing. "Fine, as I can see you have a valid point. Shall we meet up here tomorrow night?"  
"Fine with me," Darkwing put his helmet on, "In the meantime can I borrow those pictures?"  
"And you call yourself a vampire," Ducker scowled at him and turned away without handing anything to Darkwing. Apparently Ducker didn't like Darkwing much either.

" 'And you call yourself a vampire'." Darkwing mocked. He started the engine and Bushroot couldn't hear anything else he said before they took off on the motorcycle.  
"He let us go again." Quackerjack noticed. "He's too busy being Mister Grouchy Pants with Mister Wacko Ducker to play with us."  
"You know," Bushroot realised something, "They were watching this street for vampires so we must be getting close."  
"Yeah..." Quackerjack looked around them to the shopfronts. "Singles club, 'arcade'," He said in an unpleasant voice, "Last Minute store, hey, what about that magic shop?"  
Bushroot followed Quackerjack to the shop front. There was a blinking neon hand sign, a neon rabbit and a neon hat. "It's called The Mad Hatter Emporium." Bushroot read the overhanging sign above them.  
"It's very small." Quackerjack mused. "When I make toys I think big department stores."  
"But..." Bushroot scrabbled to save the situation, "Your toys are special."  
"They are?" Quackerjack brightened, "Well, of course they are!" Quackerjack answered himself, "Who else would invent exploding pandas?"  
"E-exactly!" Bushroot nodded fiercely, "So maybe a specialty store really is the right place for them."  
Quackerjack jumped on the spot, "Oh, we really must go inside and see their wares!"  
"I-er-."

Quackerjack herded Bushroot through the door and they were inside. The lighting was moody. In the cabinets were metal rings, books, incense, trinkets, dream catchers, cups, coasters, stickers, hats, small dolls.  
"Glass cabinets," Quackerjack commented, making Bushroot notice the glass the little statue of Gizmoduck was standing on. "Not really designed for children."  
Bushroot straightened, "Quackers, remember the parents have the money."

"Can I help you?" The store clerk called to them from across the way.  
Quackerjack stepped in front of Bushroot and handed the clerk a card. "I'd like to talk to your manager about a business arrangement," he said in a momentarily professional voice.  
The clerk, a lanky dark haired dog, studied the card. "Quackerjack Toys..."

"Bring a few samples in tomorrow night. I know you've invented a lot of toys; some of them ought to interest my clients." He smiled at Quackerjack, "Rolf Wardock, by the way, I'm the store owner."  
"A pleasure!" Quackerjack smiled cheerily at Rolf and a moment later they were out of the store.

"Bushy...!" Bushroot looked back to a breathless Quackerjack framed by the door. "...He didn't say 'no'!"  
Bushroot pursed his beak, "He didn't say yes yet..." Bushroot clasped Quackerjack's shoulder. "But even if he just wants to display one or two to start with, Quackers, it means you've found the right market."  
"Yeah!" Quackerjack smiled back at him. "Oh, this is the happiest day of my life!" He hugged Bushroot for a split second and bounded away, "I'll finally get Darkwing Duck to pay!" He declared in loud triumph.

Bushroot didn't know why exactly, but he suddenly started laughing along with Quackerjack.


	6. Ch1 P5 Not a Sidekick

_A/n: No, spellchecker, that is not a cliché, it's a literal fact!_

* * *

**Return of the Mad Plant Scientist**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

THE TALE OF THE UNCONVINCING SIDEKICK

PART 5

Not a Sidekick

* * *

"Headache again," Darkwing Duck closed his eyes from his computer screen for a moment, rubbing the back of his head. The scent of the bay wafted in on the brisk morning breeze through the open windows of the tower. The sound of traffic on the bridge below was getting more regular. He took a few moments, giving the pain a chance to migrate to his stomach. Slightly hungrier, he opened his eyes, keen for the search again. "Alright; next one," the page on the screen read: 'St Canard Persons Reported Missing in the last 48 hours'.

"Adelaide Smith reported in by her husband, okay, I already know this one..." He opened up a new search window and clicked on his bookmark for the 'South End Women Centre' login portal.

'S.H.U.S.H. clearance override Darkwing Duck Password ***************.'

He'd found her the moment the page had loaded. "... No surprise there: she's in a halfway house going by the name of Lee." Darkwing brought up his email screen again and quickly typed a letter to S.H.U.S.H. Director Hooter's personal assistant Terry Smith. "Dear Agent Smith. For Adelaide Smith see South End Women's Centre. This is a case of domestic distress. Please treat with discretion."

He hit send and then brought the missing persons listing back up. "Joe Canary. 24 Sycamore Street," he read then paused, thinking hard about the person living at 24 Sycamore Street, "Joe's a hypochondriac ... He had a nervous panic attack and checked himself into hospital, so why is he here?"

Darkwing brought up the search window and clicked on his bookmark for the St Canard General Hospital's login portal.

'S.H.U.S.H. clearance override Darkwing Duck Password ***************.'

The report data jumped on the screen as he scanned the multitude of records.

"... As I suspected: He's been misfiled." Darkwing quickly typed another email to Terry. "Dear Agent Smith. For Joe Canary see SCGH Nervous Disorders Ward Joe Cannery." He hit send and brought up the 'St Canard Persons Reported Missing in the last 48 hours' report again. "Arlene Grant, little miss send-a-garbage-can-into-orbit herself..." he hesitated, "she's gone to stay at her grandparents' house ... poor kid."

Darkwing moved his attention to the next name in the list. "Mr. Fiddlesworth Lark, 344 Coxcomb Drive." Darkwing frowned in thought. "Wait a minute; all the Larks are at home ... who is that?" Darkwing clicked into the details report. "That's ... their family cat! Oh, why isn't it on the missing pet register where it belongs?" He groaned, his head pounding again.

A moment later he'd collected himself once more. "While I'm here..." Grumbling, Darkwing typed in another email to Agent Smith. "Fiddlesworth Lark: check neighbour's garage. The Gregsons locked it when they went on holidays and he's gotten trapped inside." He pressed send.

Darkwing checked the missing report list and realised he'd gotten to the bottom of the page. He stared in mute horror at the scroll bar to the side. 'Ducker's wasted my time! Did he do it on purpose? He couldn't do it on purpose! What would he gain by wasting my time? That sounds like paranoia. Am I being paranoid?'

"Morning, Dad!" Gosalyn's voice bellowed half a metre behind him.

In his startle, Darkwing jumped out of his chair and landed on the floor below the computer platform before he realised what had startled him. "Gosalyn!" He complained.

"What?" Gosalyn peered down at him over the side of the computer platform with a giggle. "I just said 'hi'."

Darkwing glanced around at the otherwise empty tower, trying to let out some of the tension in his limbs. Ducker could be anywhere, anytime. "It's not safe up here, Gos."  
Gosalyn frowned, "Oh, come on, dad-."  
"Juan Ducker was here last night," he explained.

"Ducker beat the security system?" That brought Gosalyn sliding down the ladder and to his side. "You don't look hurt." Gosalyn started peering closely at his feathers and face with a serious expression. "Are you alright?"

"Gosalyn," Darkwing let her poke him for a moment; "I'm fine, really." He glanced over at the trap door chairs; Launchpad would be here in a moment. "I think I should wait for Launchpad to get here so I can explain what's going on to the both of you ..." He paused, wondering how long she'd been listening to him talk to himself, "Uh, how much of a head start did you ask Launchpad to give you?"  
Gosalyn's expression went mischievous, "If you don't know then I'm not telling you."

Darkwing paused, but before he could decide if he should press the question on how good Gosalyn's sneak attack skills were getting, the trap door spun around.

Launchpad crossed the tower and smiled at Darkwing, "Hiyah, DW, how was last night?"  
"Ducker's been here!" Gosalyn spoke up, "Dad's lucky to be in one piece."  
"I'm fine!" Darkwing insisted to the both of them. "He came here asking for help on this vampire he's chased to St Canard."

Launchpad's courage faded, "Oh. So what do you know about the guy?"  
"Not much, LP, only that he needs to be stopped, I didn't get enough of a look at those pictures." Darkwing frowned, "Ducker didn't want to trust me with the information. I guess he thinks ..." Darkwing sighed, "But he knows those sorts of things tick me off. What does he expect I might do?"  
"Get the guy without him," Gosalyn answered.  
"We could say a few things about Juan Ducker, but he doesn't strike me as a glory hound," Darkwing disputed. "What difference would it make whether I get the vampire or Ducker gets him?"

The three of them stood in silence for a moment.

If nobody had an answer then it wasn't much good them standing around, Darkwing shook himself. "I think it's getting on time for school, kiddo. Have you had breakfast?"  
Gosalyn groaned, "Yeah, dad. Way to dampen the mood. Can't we just try to figure this out first?"  
"Gos-a-lyn..." Darkwing said in a strained voice.  
"Alright!" Gosalyn spun around and headed back to the chairs, "Sheesh."

"Uh, what would you like me to do, DW?"  
Darkwing turned to Launchpad, "Ducker got in here," he gestured to the tower around them, "I don't know how he got through our security net, but maybe that anti-vampire detection stuff from Hamil Corp has something to do with it."  
"I'll check it out, DW."  
"Thanks, LP. I've arranged to meet Ducker on the street tonight but we still have to be careful he doesn't sneak up on us early. I have no idea what's going on in that head of his but I can tell you he's unscrupulous."

Darkwing sighed.  
"What's the matter, DW?"  
"Time, Launchpad," Darkwing gritted. "There's no one on the missing persons register to fit this case."  
"That's good, isn't it, DW?"  
"No, Launchpad, it means they'll be on the missing persons register tonight. And that means ..." Darkwing took a breath, "Launchpad ... that means I might've been able to stop him last night!" He hid his face in his hands. "Why did I have to play Ducker's stupid game for, Launchpad? Why?" Darkwing looked up at Launchpad in a sudden temper, "he took those pictures from me! Five minutes alone with my computer, I could've had that guy!"  
"Snap out of it, DW!" Launchpad shook him until Darkwing was silent again.

"Maybe it's time you play your own game, DW. You're obviously being a sidekick for the wrong person."  
That nasty little notion was a square hit on Darkwing's ego. "Thank you, Launchpad, that's exactly what I needed to hear." He quietly growled in displeasure.

"You better get Gosalyn to school, DW." Launchpad roused, "I'll check out the security system. It's probably something obvious we've missed."  
"Right, thanks, Launchpad," Darkwing vanished in a cloud of black vapour.

* * *

The neat and tidy farmhouse had a small veranda room around the back off the kitchen. It was mid morning now and right now, this little veranda room was the shape of a hexagonal spell casting room several metres wide.

Pine Porter sat on a large cushion with her legs crossed, staring through the flame of the candle on the wooden floor in front of her.

"Mum?" She heard her son's nagging voice behind her in the doorway.  
"Uh, yes, dear?"  
"Can't I call the police now?"  
"Monk, what did your father say when you asked him earlier?" Pine reminded him and closed her eyes from the candle flame.  
"Yeah, well."  
"What did your father say?" Pine repeated firmly.

"He already called them and they said we had to wait twenty-four hours." Pine heard Monk kick the doorframe with his foot. "But I figure she went off yesterday morning and we-."

"Birnita said Bella was there at her last lecture, Monk, your father really tried very hard with the police this morning. They said for us to call back this afternoon if she's still missing and they'll get on it straight away. But we have to wait till then."  
Monk grunted in frustration, "I know, I just ... I want to do something, you know?"  
"Well, you could make a cup of lavender tea for your mother, there's a good boy."  
"Sure, mum," Monk paused, "It's a pity Aunty Dram's not still alive or we could ask her about how that locating spell goes," he left the veranda.

Pine vaguely heard the kettle in the kitchen in the next room as she focused on her memories of Aunty Dram. It was hard, since Pine had only been a little girl when the old woman had passed away.

"Hey, mum," Monk carefully handed Pine her favourite cup, the scent of lavender tea steaming up and clearing Pine's nerves.  
"Thank you, darling."

Monk crossed the room and pulled up a cushion. He sat down crossing his legs, the candle in between them, "Aunty Dram, didn't she like have ten kids or something?"  
"Nine."  
"Yeah, something like that. So why'd she never teach anyone that spell?"  
"Aunty Dram had a failing memory towards the end." Pine mused. "But we don't know if she didn't teach Aunty Fog yet. Your father's gone to find her."

Monk looked down at the candle. "Wish more of our family had phones."  
"Bella has a phone," Pine reminded him, "Technology clearly hasn't helped us."  
"I believe you, mum!" Monk responded quickly. "Please don't turn the power off; I have an essay due for school."  
Pine shook her head. "Try, Monk, to think without your phone. You might find Bella. You do have your father's ability."

Monk closed his eyes. "I can't tell anything, mum ... I think she's sleeping."


End file.
